


Tart

by anenko



Category: Firefly
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon, Story Fragment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-01-02
Updated: 2003-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-05 15:52:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anenko/pseuds/anenko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Have you begun to understand yet?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tart

Inara's expression went still and hard with old anger. Her spine stiffened to almost painful propriety and her shoulders straightened under the delicate weave of her lace shawl. Even a lifetime of training and experience could not ease away all of the subtle tension which had settled along the curve of her lips and at the corner of her eyes. Inara titled her head slightly, as if considering the pocket-watch fitted snugly into her gloved palm, and studied the cluster of agitated girls across from her from beneath a thick fan of half-lowered lashes.

The girls were like countless others Inara had known, differing only in the cut of their dresses and the patterned flow of their voices. Their dresses were of fine cotton, richly hued, and their hair was set in curls rather than in the simple braids of the women who worked in Trade Alley. Their lips were set into the sneer so common to those who believed themselves to be surrounded by their inferiors. Niall had once claimed, both joking and not, that there was nothing more chilling than self-important young women gathered together with busy tongues. There was truth to that, Inara thought as one of the girls lifted her chin and her voice and said again: *whore.*

They were not looking at Inara.

Kaylee had cleared a space for herself at the edges of one of the tables. She sat there now, surrounded by bits of metal and wire, palms flat beside her thighs and scuffed and oil-stained boots swinging idly. Her head had been thrown back, teeth flashing behind curving lips until Kaylee heard the word thrown at her. Kaylee's pealing laughter trailed into silence. Her shinning eyes dimmed briefly as Kaylee flushed, cheeks hot with anger and embarrassment. It was not right that Kaylee suffer for her love of life, for the joy that called people to her, Inara thought with a bitterness no less mellowed for all its age.

And Inara loved her then as Kaylee straightened her shoulders and found a fresh smile. She tilted her head towards the tall boy with a merchant's fine clothes and an explorer's calloused hands who stood at her side. He was turning a twisted bit of metal and springs in his hands and lowered his head towards Kaylee. She shook her head and swatted at the boy's arm and he grinned and ducked his head and didn't look at the furious girl behind them.

Further down, but not so far as not to have heard, Mal set angry eyes on the girls. His jaw was tensed and he loved Kaylee as if she were his own flesh and blood. Mal's eyes went wide when Inara leaned into him and asked, her voice low and soft: "have you begun to understand, yet?"

*

Inara was seventeen the first time she was allowed off-world.

Companion Celeste had announced at the morning meal that she was to take an Initiate with her when she visited Governor MacKenzie on Resonant. The trip was to be a field training excercise: the Initiate was to observe and to learn, to interact in high-society without yet shouldering the added responsibility of a Companion's duties. The Initiates murmured excitedly over their fresh fruit platters. The competition, as usual, was both subtle and fierce and began almost before Celeste's honey-rich voice had stilled. Three seats down and across from Inara, Edmund carefully arranged for Lara to knock her strawberries into her lap.

Barely five days later, Inara was informed that she was to have the honour of accompanying Celeste on her journey.

Inara practiced ladylike decorum while she secretly bubbled with enthusiasm. Her imagination flew even as Inara lay a demure hand across Niall's shoulder. His hand was familiar against the curve of her hip as they slid out into the Academy's ballroom under Master Anthony's critical eye, booted heels tapping rhythmically against the polished floor. Inara followed the subtle shift of Niall's hands and hips and envisioned candlelite chandeliers, discreet musicians playing sweet melodies, and herself, shining and beautiful and the perfect image of a well-bred Companion. She tread on Niall's foot.

Inara retired early that night. She slid into her simple white nightgown and sat before her gilded oval mirror. With even strokes, she glided slick white cream across the bridge of her nose, the angle of her jaw, the sweep of her forehead. Inara rinsed her hands in the shallow basin of rose-scented water before reaching for her brush.

The brush was heavy: polished wood and a wealth of fine bristles with delicate blossoms hand-painted on its back. A gift from her parents, before Inara had left home again for the last time. Inara moved slowly, drawing the brush back from her hairline, in a leisurely journey atop her head, across the back of her skull, downward still. One-hundred strokes, serene as she drew each number out in her mind, stretching the length of her hair. She didn't stop until every inch of her hair had been drawn through her brush, over and over until her hair floated about her face. Inara set down her brush and grinned wildly at her reflection.

Inara curled atop fresh-turned sheets and plump pillows. She sipped at warm mint tea from a fine china cup, pinky carefully raised, until her eyes grew heavy. Inara slid under finely-woven sheets and slept.

The next morning, Inara rose early to meet Celeste in the courtyard. Celeste's travelling gown was a shimmering pink. Her blonde curls were pinned in place beneath her delicately woven straw hat. She seemed to glow in the morning light: poised and utterly lovely. Inara twitched at her own skirt, hopelessly awed by the older woman until Celeste turned smoothly curving pink lips towards her.

Niall, Ainsley and Sophia were watching them from the second floor balcony. Sophia was standing with her hands folded over the rail, fierce envy visible in her expression. Ainsley set her elbow in Sophia's ribs and stuck out her tongue at Inara while Niall laughed at them all. Inara turned towards them. Under Celeste's watchful eyes, Inara simply took her skirts between her fingtertips and curtseyed at her friends. Niall bowed floridly, still laughing. Ainsley wiggled her fingers and mouthed: "don't do anything I wouldn't!" Inara bit the inside of her lip against a laugh. Her feet twitched with excitement beneath the fall of her skirts.

The *Farpoint* was sleek and silent and brought them to Resonance within the space of days. Governor MacKenzie met them when the ship docked. Inara was pleased to see that he was a stately man with a trim beard and a well-tailored suit--a perfectly lovely gentleman, Inara thought and sighed with delight when he kissed Celeste's lace-covered knuckles. Celeste smiled and laid her arm lightly across the Governor's. Inara followed them, her hands clasped before her, her eyes lowered. A brilliant smile edged at the corner of her lips.

She found that the air smelt different on Resonance: like rain and fresh-turned earth and the distant hint of the compost and fertilizer that fed Resonance's famous orchards. The Academy smelt of hot-house roses all year round, of a dozen different perfumes and bath oils and the lemon polish the household help applied with dutiful regularity. Inara drew upon breath after breath of Resonance's air until she choked on the newness of it and wilted beneath Celeste's disaproving look.

Accompanying Celeste was not so glamourous as Inara had imagined. On the fourth day, Inara wearied of watching the world from her suite's windows. She set aside her finery in favour of her simple Initiate's garb and ventured into the market square. Inara paused before a woman with a worn face and a checkered kerchief tied over her hair. Inara took the fruit the woman offered her. She held the peach in the palm of her hand, arching her thumb across the fruit's soft fuzz. It was not so round nor so firm as those Inara had tasted at the Academy; it was pliant beneath Inara's roving fingertips and she imagined that juice would explode within her mouth at the first bite of it.

The woman behind the stand was smiling. She said: "a sweet peach for a sweet young lady." Inara laughed, charmed, and reached for her purse. She was pressing coins into the woman's rough palm when the vendor stopped smiling. She folded her fingers over Inara's money and turned her back.

The girl was young, younger than Inara. The sun had browned her skin and bleached her hair. Her belly was rounded, straining at the buttons of her gingham dress. Her cheeks were flushed and she flinched once, violently, at the firece whisper--*whore*--as people lowered their eyes at the sight of her and turned their backs to her.

The word curled inside Inara's mind, more cutting than she had ever imagined. Inara did not lower her eyes and did not turn her back. She saw that the girl's eyes were filled with humiliation and rage and Inara took a step forward, and another, before Celeste found her side. Celeste's fingers curled around the tense angle of Inara's elbow.

There was no softness in her voice, nothing of the seductress as Celeste spoke into Inara's ear: "Do not interfere in matters which are none of your concern," she told Inara and traced a wide path around the young girl with the round belly and furious eyes.

Celeste did not speak again until they returned to their rooms. Celeste removed her plumed bonnet and set it carefully on the varnished dresser. She smoothed at her artful mass of tumbling curls and met Inara's eyes in the mirror hanging before her. The corners of Celeste's pink mouth tightened briefly. "You will learn," Celeste said, "that we can not change what lives in men's hearts, Inara."

She would not explain further and would not argue but smoothed her hands over her silk skirt and reminded Inara that such a fierce frown was sure to leave wrinkles. Inara touched worried fingertips to the smooth skin of her cheek before she even recognized that her hand was in motion.

Governor MacKenzie's home was as beautiful as Inara might have hoped. There were curving staircases and vases filled with fresh flowers, arched windows and vaulting ceilings. The ballroom was awash with colours: pretty ladies in pretty dresses who smiled as their husbands and fathers and brothers kissed Celeste's hand, and Inara's. Inara danced with a fine-looking young man from a well-bred family and nodded and hummed and laughed with impeccable timing as he spoke of his thoroughbred horses.

Inara was not listening. She was remembering a fine autumn evening at the Academy and slapping lightly at Sophia's arm as the other girl slid her hand towards the dark chocolate on Inara's plate. Inara had closed her lips around the rescued treat and had laughed: "you greedy whore!" She and Sophia had fallen silent and wide-eyed before giggling madly at the word--naughty and exciting and all but forbidden within the Academy's walls. They had played at adult sophistication beyond the eyes and ears of their trainers and had never once thought of girls with full bellies and raging eyes. Inara had never once imagined that the word *meant* something real and sharp enough to break someone open inside.

For all that she sought her, Inara could not find the girl from the market square. Inara stopped smiling at antiquated dance steps and old men with crooked teeth and listened where she had not before. She discovered that for all that they shunned the girl, her people were willing enough to speak of her. "She says the governor's son forced himself on her," the woman selling peaches scoffed. "Likely enough the girl'd spread for any boy with a quick tongue and a pretty face," a wizened man with a table full of wooden trinkets jeered.

Inara's visions of finding the girl, of saving her with money and kindess and the promise of something better came to naught. Governor Mackenzie kissed the corner of Celeste's lips and bowed to Inara. Inara folded into her seat and wished that she had screamed and cried to the heavens and demanded justice for a girl who could not claim it for herself. Inara watched Resonance receed beneath them and looked once towards Celeste. The Companion's profile was visible to Inara, placid, eyes straight ahead. Inara hated her, hated her--

"Your eyes look puffy, Inara, dear."

\--and stopped crying before she let herself start.

Sophia and Ainsley and Niall filled Inara's room with their curiosity and their excitment. Framed in Inara's doorway, arms crossed loosely before his chest, Niall lifted a dark eyebrow and inquired: "enjoyed yourself, did you?" Ainsley laid sprawled out across Inara's bed, pointed chin cupped in her hand and bare feet swaying. "Tell me everything," she said, "absolutely everthing, Inara." Sophia shot a disapproving glance at Ainsley, pursed her lips at Niall and turned to Inara with earnest studiousness: "what did you learn, Inara? Was it everything you had hoped for?"

Inara paused with her hands buried in the folds of her dresses. She slanted her eyes away from her friends and said: "I discovered that I don't like peaches half so much as I had believed."


End file.
